


Ickle Beasties

by blueberryfallout



Category: Death of the Outsider - Fandom, Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, Low Chaos Emily Kaldwin, Medium Chaos Corvo Attano, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberryfallout/pseuds/blueberryfallout
Summary: And lo! In the month of DarknessAnd lo! His name destroyedAnd lo! He still whispers in silenceAnd lo! He went into the Void-The Month of Darkness (Outsider's Song)





	1. Accidentally

**Author's Note:**

> (Verse 1)  
> Before the great burning, before the wars  
> A time of nothing, but hills and shores  
> The smoke of cities and fields of rye  
> No eyes or voices beyond the sky
> 
> Believers roamed from town to town  
> They spied every baby born, up and down  
> Scouring the land for a child to use  
> And ponderous, esoteric clues.
> 
> A crumbling black city, an outcast found  
> Father a monster, mother under the ground  
> A beggar, a mongrel, and boy with no shoes  
> He fell to their hands to cage and abuse
> 
> (Chorus)  
> And lo! In the month of Darkness  
> And lo! His name destroyed  
> And lo! He still whispers in silence  
> And lo! He went into the Void
> 
> (Verse 2)  
> They were drawn to the light, a waning gray  
> His face was blank, he had nothing to say  
> He watched and waited, they painted his eyes  
> They colored his clothing with pigments and dyes
> 
> They found a path away from he light  
> To an ancient tree withered by blight  
> A sacred alter, encircled in stones  
> Twin blades of bronze, sharpened on bones
> 
> (Chorus)  
> And lo! In the month of Darkness  
> And lo! His name destroyed  
> And lo! He still whispers in silence  
> And lo! He went into the Void
> 
> (Verse 3)  
> In the month of Darkness, seasons destroyed  
> A ritual killing bound his spirit to the Void  
> Eyes drained of color, the beggar no more  
> To become what the believers waited for
> 
> They set him outside, beyond the spheres  
> Quiet as the night, long like the years  
> He opened his eyes, as black as a dream  
> Trying to speak, his only words- A SCREAM
> 
> (Chorus)  
> And lo! In the month of Darkness  
> And lo! His name destroyed  
> And lo! He still whispers in silence  
> And lo! He went into the Void

When Emily was young, maybe eight or so, she was playing around with some of the older children, a questions game. “Who would you most like to meet, alive or dead?” Alexi had asked her; at that age, she had been more freckle than skin, grinning at Emily with gap teeth.

“My father,” Emily had said immediately, and wondered why the gathering was quickly cut short, all the other children looking uncomfortably over to Corvo, lurking at a safe distance. 

Now, of course, Emily knows why. After, after the Rat Plague and before Delilah’s coup, Emily would’ve said the Outsider, the black eyed bastard her father talks about after too much rich Tyvian wine.

Never would she have thought she’d actually meet him, that she would bear his mark. That she would go looking for him, around the city. It’s harder without her mother’s heart to guide her. She has to rely more on logic and searching, until she finds the shrines tucked away in the Flooded District, after empty shrine after empty shrine that her father would begrudgingly tell her about. 

They’re useless without the runes, without that special something that calls the Outsider to them. Or maybe he doesn’t want to see her, which surprises Emily with how hurtful she finds the thought, when the Outsider never seemed to care for anyone much at all. 

It’s just…she’s been so…not bored really. Not exactly. It’s impossible to be bored when she and the rest of parliament are busy trying to rebuild the city, the right way this time. Impossible to be bored when she has these new gifts that haven’t gone away, that let her sneak through the city like a shadow and create copies of herself to sit in at state dinners so she can do real work. 

But she feels like something’s unfinished, even though Delilah’s dead and everyone else has been taken care of, either locked up or turned to their side. Emily had felt, once her mother’s eye was off her, that maybe one well-deserved death was okay. After seeing her city in ruins, Emily had thought Jessamine would understand. 

But still there’s something not right, and Emily searches the city for an answer, ignores Corvo’s worried eyes on her when she returns at the rooster’s crow and leaves at first dark. Something is wrong. Something is missing. And Emily Kaldwin will find it.  
*  
*  
*  
One night, she dreams of a world where Delilah is her aunt, a real aunt, where they have family dinners and Jessamine is still alive, maybe even with a sibling in her belly, Corvo at her side. Emily tries to imagine Delilah, warm and caring, sharing sister secrets with Jessamine; probably, Emily thinks, Delilah would be rebellious, a little daring. Fun. 

Emily can’t imagine it, not really. She can only see Delilah’s cold dead eyes, her white skin. Maybe in another world, where Euhorn Kaldwin didn’t force Delilah into shadows and cunning. She sometimes wonders who to blame: Delilah’s own self-serving nature, or Euhorn’s rejection. Maybe both. Maybe, with acceptance, Delilah would’ve settled into the doting half-sister position. She sure as hell wouldn’t have been Empress, her blood not pure enough. Somehow, Emily feels the Delilah would have caused trouble either way. 

But in this dream, Delilah is laughing, draped over Jessamine as Corvo watches on with fondness. Callista is there, and Samuel, like he was in the years before his death. Alexi is alive again, and Emily doesn’t question it even as she backs through a door and they fade from view, their happy noises cut off with a snap. 

She stumbles, suddenly clear, and turns to meet the wide black eyes of a very naked Outsider. It’s not the first time Emily’s seen a naked man, but she’s still taken aback, freezing in place. He’s pale all over, thin, almost hairless; Emily very carefully keeps her eyes away from his cock. That’s not…she doesn’t have the right to ogle someone, even in a dream. Even if she wants to. 

The Outsider stares at her, or at least, Emily thinks he’s staring. It’s hard to tell. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Is this really a dream? She had always imagined that dreams about the Outsider would be burry, fragmented. Maybe him jumping in and out of view like he does when she visits his shrines. But he’s just standing there. Naked.

Emily frowns. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” She’s not such a fool that she can’t tell dreams from reality. 

“No.” From one blink to the next he’s clothed in his usual black, watching her.

“You bathe?” Emily asks for lack of a better topic, all her years of decorum lessons deserting her. The tub is ludicrous here, on the craggy outpost of one of his islands, clawfooted and gently steaming. Emily hides a giggle behind her hand, almost overwhelmed. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says again, and the brief flash of emotion is weird, but interesting. “How did you get in?” 

“I wanted to visit,” Emily suggests, taking a step closer. “Maybe my brain found a way in?” Even as she says it she knows it’s ridiculous. 

The Outsider scoffs. “Your father doesn’t visit me now that his mission is over. Nor does your aunt,” he points out, folding his arms over his chest. Bastard. He knows full well that Delilah is dead. 

“But you…” But you seemed lonely, Emily wants to say. A god trapped in the body of a young man, alone in his void for eternity, finding the most interesting people to hand quests to only for them to never speak again. And Emily was lonely, too. She wonders if Corvo would visit him, if he knew the truth from the ballad. He understands more than enough about missing mothers and monstrous fathers. “People make those shrines to you.”

He makes a shooing gesture; to him, most people must seem like bloodflies, annoying and brief. She thinks again about that song from Serkonos, about the boy with the monster for a father and no mother, thinks that yes, now she knows what happened. To him, anyway. Not why or how. But she holds her tongue, because over the years she’s had more than enough people fuss over her, knowing what happened during the Rat Plague, fantasizing that they _understand_. She doesn’t, and she won’t pretend to. But she does know, and that’s important.

“I’m alone here.” 

“Delilah was a part of you, for a while.” He frowns, waving a hand, popping out of view and at her back so she has to spin to look at him, slightly too close. His eyelashes, almost unnoticeable when she’s far away, are long and dark up close, his skin more than perfect, it’s unnatural. Still, Delilah was creepier. It’s amazing, how she seemed less human than the Outsider himself. 

“She didn’t belong there. In me. I didn’t want her there. I haven’t done anything I didn’t want to do since…” Since he was sacrificed, Emily imagines, and she looks around at the Void, at what the Outsider considers part of himself, and marvels. It stretches on endlessly, specks of islands here and there but nothing really. The Outsider. What it must be like to be inside the head of a person such as him! 

“And I do? I belong here?” Emily can’t help but ask. 

He blinks once, finally acquiescing, “You’re not as bad.” With a wave of his hand, and without a goodbye, Emily is sent tumbling backwards and into her bed, where she feels like she’s fallen as she wakes with a start, staring at the gilded ceiling over her bed. 

Downstairs, she can hear the guards, although Corvo’s undoubtedly nearby. Lurking. “Outsider’s crooked cock!” someone swears, and Emily thinks about how, since she’s seen it, she knows that the Outsider’s cock is really quite normal. Pretty, even, if she cared to think about it. Which she doesn’t, Emily tells herself. She _doesn’t_. Groaning, she rolls over to try and go back to sleep, normally this time.


	2. Camian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love this game?? so much?? help me

“Your mother and I played games. She cheated. Every time.” Emily had snorted in the echoing quietness of the basement where she was fixing the elevator to the throne room; of course Jessamine cheated, she’d always cheated. But she cheated openly, as a joke, knocking over chess pieces or announcing mock laws that meant she’d win. Delilah, so filled with hatred, probably never saw the sweetness in Jessamine’s ways, the twinkle in her eye as she declared that an empress can never lose.

So much of what Delilah said was ugly, was meant to hurt the sorest parts of you, but that never did. Or her comments of Emily being a bastard daughter with common blood, like that wasn’t Delilah’s story exactly. Emily examines the room around her, the opulence of it; it only took a few months to clean up what the witches had done, to smash Delilah’s statues and scrub blood from the stones. 

The emotional wounds will last much longer, of course. The people whisper of witches, but Emily’s not worried. She’s only ever voiced this to Corvo, knowing the outcry if the truth ever came out, but she’s relieved that the Abbey was crippled by its attack on the Tower, relieved that both the High and Vice Overseer are gone to never come back. They’ve been a thorn in her side for years, were the same for her mother, constantly seeking power and stricter rules against innocent people who wouldn’t step in line. Emily remembers the first time she saw an accused witch burn. Never again. She won’t ever again watch the flesh melt from someone’s bones.

It is, of course, while she’s thinking this that the source of all this turmoil shows up. The Outsider, materializing in a shadowed corner like he’s always been there. His eyes glow in the dark, she’s realized. Or, they catch any hint of light, gleaming at her as he drifts from the shadows. “Hello, Emily.”

She glances around her room; her maid is frozen, mid word, hand held up with a fistful of riverkrust pearls to make into a necklace. Being rather fond of all her maids, Emily frowns at him. “It’s rude to do that to people, you know.” Holger knows she’s been tempted to Mesmerize her councilors mid-meeting and escape, or take a nap.

He laughs. “You sound just like the little girl you once were.”

It unnerves Emily to think that he knew her as a child, that he’s unaging, so she clears her throat and changes the subject. “What’re you doing here?”

“Would you believe I’m paying a social call?”

“No,” Emily says bluntly, narrowing her eyes at him as he drifts over and sits at the foot of her bed, near where her feet are outstretched, shoes off. It shouldn’t be unsettling to think of how close he is to her bare feet. Her toes curl anyway, his gaze flicking to them and back to her face. 

He’s the only person she knows that she can’t command, and the only one she usually wants to. Corvo she doesn’t command, nor Wyman or the others, people close to her. But she could, and the knowledge is always there. Sometimes it makes her uncomfortable. Right now, she wishes she could tell the Outsider to step back, take his black eyes off her face.

“Something is coming,” he says after a while, trailing his finger along the fine gold threads in her comforter.

“What?” she asks, knowing that while he may be cryptic, the Outsider’s information is always sound. He’s solid, in his own, peculiar way.

She remembers his touch after he pulled her into the Void and caught her, dangling. Revealed information for no reason at all. Is she the only one who knows this? The truth about his sacrifice? Is she the only one, ever? Emily has a good sense of her own worth; she’s an empress, a damn good witch, and an assassin, when she wants to be. But compared to the years he’s lived, the people he’s seen, Emily feels like she’s not very special at all.   
Still, she had hung there, his grip on her wrist tight and sure, and wondered what would happen if he dropped her even as she shivered at the feel of him. Would she tumble through the Void forever? But of course, he wasn’t cruel enough to let go. Solid, like she said.

“You did not get rid of all your enemies in Karnaka,” he says as the world bends and warps around him. “Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences for kindness?” Of course she did. Emily wonders who’s coming for her; Breanna Ashworth, stripped from her power? Duke Luca Abele, escaped from the madhouse? Most likely, Liam Byrne or Paolo, finding their way home from the mines. With Stilton in charge, she’s sure they’re a kinder place, but still nothing compared to those ambitious two. 

“There are consequences for everything,” Emily says, rolling her eyes. “Why are you telling me?”

“You helped me carve Delilah out of myself, undid Daud’s messy work. A favor for a favor.” Emily would’ve done it anyway, would’ve slit Delilah’s throat a thousand times for what she did to Emily’s people, to her father, to _Alexi_. The only time she killed during the whole quest. But a favor from the Outsider is not something to be taken lightly, so Emily just nods her head, expecting him to pop out of existence. 

Instead, he looks around her room, at Kamala, her maid, still frozen. “Your room is spare,” he says, touching her comforter again. Emily will now think of him every time she pulls it around herself. “But well-made.”

“I don’t sleep here,” she blurts, surprised by her honesty. 

“You don’t?”

“Don’t you know?” Emily would’ve expected he knows everything about her, from the food she prefers most to where she keeps love letters from Wyman. She assumed he knew about everyone. 

“I’m not omniscient,” he tells her. There’s something smirking in his eyes, and it annoys her while at the same time, she wonders what’s amusing him. “I haven’t seen you with that Wyman of yours, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” 

“I’m not,” Emily snaps, annoyed that he’d speak of Wyman. They’re taking different paths right now, still together but separate, willing to see others if they want. Emily hasn’t found anyone as interesting yet. 

“Where do you sleep?” he asks, changing the subject. Emily sleeps in the secret room her mother used to keep, the one that requires pulling on an innocuous wall lamp to open. Her bed there is small, if comfortable. She can still see the city from her smaller window, and it feels less…vulnerable, Emily cautious now after so many attempts on her life. On really bad nights, she sleeps in her own safe room, with all the lanterns burning. Her father joins her sometimes, and they use Dark Vision to watch for enemies that never come. Those nights happen less and less as Emily grows more confident with her power, though.

“You don’t need to know all my secrets,” Emily responds, surprised to find herself teasing. The open curiosity in his face is charming, in an odd way. She’s sure he isn’t refused very often.

“I could find out,” he warns, leaning in, the chill from the Void wafting her way. He carries it like a cloak around his thin shoulders. 

“But you won’t.” She’s confident that he’ll find the secret more fun than the knowing would be.

He watches her for a long moment before nodding. “Perhaps.”

With that, he’s gone without ceremony, her maid moving again like nothing happened. “Is everything alright, Lady Emily? You look pale,” she says, depositing the riverkrust pearls on a nightstand to look at Emily with concern. 

“I’m fine, Kamala, thank you. And you’re right, those pearls will be excellent together.” Kamala beams with pride, even as Emily looks past her to a dark corner where, she imagines, the Outsider still lurks.


	3. Weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: says i won't be updating this story often  
> also me: has updated this story twice in, like, the last week

Emily is standing on the highest possible spire of the Tower, overlooking her city. Dunwall stretches before her in an expanse of gray, incomparable to Karnaca or Morley but beautiful all the same. Everything before her is hers, Emily thinks. Everything but the Outsider, as he blurs into vision next to her. “Hello, Emily.”

She sighs, resigned to his sudden appearances, and lets the chill of the Void wash over her. “Hello.”

He too looks over the city, black eyes narrowed. “It can be a weight, to own everything,” he says, like he was reading her thoughts. Maybe he was, and Emily stubbornly tries to shove all thoughts about his cock out of her head. 

“You think you own my Isles?” she challenges, not about to let some bastard god depose her. He laughs once, a sound that’s more mirthful than she would’ve expected. He was young, once. He is young, outwardly, forever.

“My dear Empress, I don’t just own your Isles. I own the whole world.” Emily is stuck on _my dear Empress_ , a pet name she’s not used to. 

To Corvo, Jessamine was his star in the sky. Emily witnessed, more than once, her father whisper that to her mother in some private moment when it was just the three of them, Emily curled up safe between her parents. “My little moon,” Corvo would call Emily herself, fond. Besides that, no one else but Wyman has used pet names. 

She wishes that nerves weren’t curling in her belly right now, that pet names from the Outsider meant nothing to her. She clenches her fist, the one with his mark on it. “Are there people on Pandyssia, then? With your mark?” she asks instead of fighting. Curiosity has always been more important than conflict. 

“Perhaps,” is his evasive answer, before he disappears in a cloud of black smoke. It isn’t until Emily’s heading back inside that she realizes this is the second time he’s left her with only a perhaps and, more important, his visit had no purpose beyond, apparently, seeking her company.   
+  
+  
Since Delilah, Emily has been giving interviews every two months. She doesn’t want a maelstrom of rumors swirling around her city again. She’ll be an Empress that everyone can understand, and besides, the questions are usually puff pieces that she can easily answer, light hearted things like her favorite color or the hydraulics she’s begun to install around the city to replace whale oil. 

This one, however, seems insistent on trying to make Emily uncomfortable, catch her off guard. Or he’s just a fool, who doesn’t realize that Emily is one more misguided question away from Shadow Walking her way out of here. “Where would you be without your father?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed behind his glasses. 

“Dead,” Emily says without thinking. The reporter blinks at her, shocked, but Emily doesn’t take it back. 

Corvo has been with her for her whole life, a constant presence that she’s never resented. Those six months alone while he was in Coldridge Prison were agony, and she never believed he’d killed Jessamine. Emily was _there_ , she saw everything, and even without that, Corvo might as well be a part of her. “Two souls in one,” her mother always said, smiling, and it’s true. They move the same, speak the same, think the same thoughts. And now, share the same mark on their left hands. 

“Um, well, thank the Outsider for that,” he says, seemingly also without thinking, because he just blasphemed in front of the Empress. 

Emily should probably have him executed or something, but instead she just gives him a thin smile and folds her gloved hands. “Yes, I’m very grateful to the Royal Protector.” It’s never been officially announced, Corvo’s true relation to her. Everyone knows anyway. It’s probably the worst kept secret in all the Isles.

“How did you feel about him killing Farley Havelock?” Corvo hadn’t just killed Havelock; he’d tossed him off the Lighthouse. Emily had watched his body smash on the rocks below as she’d held tight to Corvo’s hand. People still whisper about it, years later. That, and Hiram Burrows’ death. A man like that had to die, after setting the Plague on the city and killing Jessamine to hide it. No amount of disgrace would’ve kept him down for long, he was too thirsty for power. 

But people still speak of Corvo like he’s some sort of mythical beast, and Emily always wants to complain that he set Daud free, that he didn’t spill a drop of innocent blood on his quest to save her. People, Emily has found, will believe whatever’s the most interesting. Emily never had the chance to kill, on her own quest; she’s no fool. The Royal Protector killing a few people on his way to saving her? Acceptable. An empress, slaughtering her own people in the streets? They would’ve deposed her as soon as Delilah was dead. 

She had crept around on cat’s feet, even when it would’ve been easier to take a life, or more satisfying. To put a bolt through Jindosh’s fat skull rather than turning his brain to mush, for example. Emily can’t stand people who are cruel just for the fun of it, just because they have power. Using her mother’s heart to read secrets only increased the feeling. Everyone has a story.

Shaking those thoughts away, Emily smiles at him. “Farley Havelock falling from the Lighthouse was an accident.” He had screamed and struggled as he tumbled through the air; at ten years old, Emily still had enough spine to watch him become a smear. Never again will she be someone’s pawn.

“Right,” the interviewer says, clearly unconvinced. Emily can’t remember his name, though he has the pale, fine coloring of someone from the far north of Tyvia. “Any news on who the new High Overseer will be?” Yul Khulan, the last High Overseer, has only been dead a few months. Emily had removed his body from the throne room herself, wiped the blood from his mouth. She mourns him still. Khulan and her had disagreed on many things, but he was a good man. A kind one, unlike his predecessor. “What with what happened to Khulan, and, uh, to the other one…” 

The reporter trails off, probably not wanting to mention what happened to Campbell. No one but she and Corvo know what really occurred, that Thaddeus Campbell died a Weeper in the Flooded District with the scars of a heretic on his face. Good, Emily thinks viciously to herself. He helped to kill her mother and destroy her city, hurt the people who are under _her_ care. Emily takes her duties very seriously now; though she was never cruel to the people, she was careless, focusing more on rooftop adventures than the job of an Empress. Not anymore. Her people will thrive, no matter what she has to sacrifice to accomplish it. 

“I have no idea,” Emily answers, although of course she’s heard from the Royal Spymaster that Mal Arsenios is looking to be their favorite choice. He’s said to be devoted, but fair, and not a big fan of burning heretics. Emily, through careful exploration of her own, has learned that his sister is a witch who escaped the city years ago, during the Rat Plague. The Abbey could do worse. The Abbey has _done_ worse. Bored, she wraps up the interview a few minutes later, shaking his hand with a polite smile and hoping she gets someone else next time.   
+  
+  
“Something is coming,” the Outsider had said to her, and Emily still doesn’t know what. The rumors of unrest are gone now, the people of Karnaca happy under Duke Abele’s double, and Delilah is gone for good. Emily is hard on herself, but not so hard that she thinks she’s doing a bad job ruling now. The people are healthy, the Isles are rich. Their lives improve with every new law. But something is coming. It must be. She’s tried contacting the Outsider again and again with no answer, found his shrines all over the city to no avail. 

She falls asleep that night in her mother’s secret room, uneasy, rolling over. She falls out of bed and keeps falling, impossibly far, landing with a thump on hard ground. Immediately, she recognizes the Void. There’s nothing like it, the susurrus of voices in the background, the chill, the debris floating overhead.

“Outsider!” she calls out, wishing she wasn’t in just her nightgown. It’s wrong here; the smoke is a dark black, so thick Emily can barely see, filling her throat. She gags, groping, hoping she doesn’t stumble over a cliff’s edge. “Outsider!” she calls again, using Dark Vision and seeing nothing. She trips, falls, and wakes up coughing in her own bed, scrabbling at the air. Something catches her wrist and holds it, impossibly strong, firm against the fabric of her sleeve. It feels like her heart is beating out of her chest, nausea rising. “Father?”

“No.” Emily would recognize the Outsider’s voice anywhere; he’s crouched next to her bed, eyes glinting pinpricks in the dim light. “It’s been four thousand years,” he says as Emily calms herself, finding something soothing in the cadence of his voice. Her arm is still caught in his grip. “And almost no one has ever done what you did.”

“Had a nightmare?” Emily asks, sleep stupid and focused mostly on his face, ghostly pale.

“Gotten into the Void without my help.” 

He releases her arm and she pulls it to her chest, yawning. “M’sorry.” 

“That’s twice now, Empress. Delilah could do the same, in a way. I wonder if it runs in the family?” She gives him a half-hearted snarl and turns over; she has a meeting with Parliament at daybreak tomorrow, then more meetings with nobles and a briefing on exports from Redmoor that promises to take hours, after which Emily has to attend a guards’ union meeting. Taking care of her city is _exhausting_ , if worthwhile. 

“Come back another time. I have questions for you.” 

There’s a brief, incredulous pause. “Are you dismissing me?” he finally asks. She senses him standing in the dark.

“Do as your Empress commands,” she teases, drifting off into dreamless sleep. He stands there for a moment before disappearing in a soundless puff, his soft chuckle slipping into her dreams.


	4. Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's another chapter, and surprisingly i know exactly where i'm going with this story

Emily, preparing for the Gray sister’s latest soiree, examines her face in the mirror. Emily knows she’s not beautiful, not like her mother. She doesn’t have Jessamine’s delicate features; there’s too much of Corvo’s heavy brows and square jaw in her, too much stubbornness in the set of her chin. But she’s not ugly, either. “You’re a sullen little thing,” the madam at the Golden Cat had said, holding Emily’s face pinched in her hand. Up close she smelled too strongly of cheap perfume, make-up caked in the wrinkles of her face. “But pretty enough. You’d do well as one of my whores.” 

Emily shudders, shaking the thought away as she looks over her makeup. Something dark will do well tonight, a high collar up to her throat, Corvo menacing in black at her side. Lately, there have been rumors about the Grey sisters, that they were behind some of the pamphlets calling Emily a fool Empress, the child of a murderer. Let everyone remember that Emily crept through her empire taking down traitors without ever raising a blade. Let them see the Void in her eyes. 

Corvo appears at her door seconds later, like he knew she was thinking of him. She smiles as their eyes meet in the mirror, Corvo stalking closer. “Father.”

“Emily.” He’s already dressed for the night. Black, just as she was expecting. There’s gray at his temples. Emily had never suspected that Corvo could grow old. Saddened by the thought, she takes his hand and presses it to her cheek. The left one, the Mark there touching her skin. “You look beautiful.”

“I’m not even dressed yet,” she points out, releasing his hand to pick up a strand of pearls before deciding against them and leaving them to coil on her vanity again.

“You’re always beautiful, my little moon.” Compliments rarely affect Emily, but from her father, she doesn’t mind. She beams at him. “Do we have to stay long?” he asks, watching as she beckons one of her maids forward and tells her what she wants for the night. The maid leaves with a polite curtsy. 

“It’s not really a party,” Emily explains, beginning to twist one of the long coils of her hair up. The ruler of the Isles is not so spoiled that she can’t do her own hair and makeup. “It’s more politics than anything.” 

Letting people know that their ruler is still strong, that she can be friendly, as Emily watches who chats with who, and who avoids who. She doesn’t particularly like parties, but they’re useful. Corvo grunts and Blinks from the room. Emily goes back to her work.   
+  
+  
Emily glides into the party, into a cacophony of people and golden light, with her hand on Corvo’s arm. They’re both wearing gloves, as they always do. She waves at everyone, letting a smile spread across her face. In this room of people wearing red and green and gold, she and Corvo look like two crows, Emily’s train a shadow behind her. They will not forget this night any time soon. Emily loves her people, truly she does, but she doesn’t love the nobility enough to allow them to settle back into the decadence they enjoyed during the Rat Plague. Those with power should use it for good, not to pleasure themselves. 

Emily is separated from Corvo, delivered to a weed of a man who bows at her, grinning. Lord Vitas, visiting from Gristol. He’s already made quite a name for himself as a swordsman. Emily lets him take her hand and bow low over it, kissing. “Lady Emily, you look like you’re in mourning,” he mocks, boldly standing close. 

Emily’s smile sharpens. “Oh, but no one has died. Yet.” To his credit he laughs and backs away, bowing again.

From there she drifts person to person, exchanging little of her own thoughts, always with an eye on Corvo, who is disinterested and standing with his arms crossed by one of the guards, chatting quietly. Probably discussing swordplay, she thinks fondly. Corvo is not good at making friends, but he’s a fantastic teacher.

Walking into the dining hall, Emily’s steps stutter as she feels like all the air has been sucked from her. She rests a hand on the door frame, focuses on her leather clad fingers til she can breathe again. When she looks up, the Outsider is still there, wearing all black with his back to her. She’d know him anywhere, though. He half turns, and Emily is mildly surprised by his elegant profile. It would look lovely on a cameo. He holds a peach, lifts it to his mouth and bites. Juice spills down his fingers, whisked away by the mist around him before it can stick.

“Hello, Empress.”

“What are you _doing?_ ” she hisses, glancing around to make sure they’re not seen. No one seems to notice; their gazes focus on Emily then slide over the Outsider, some mildly puzzled for a moment before shaking their heads and walking off.

“I’m eating a peach,” he says, infuriatingly calm as always.

“Here?” He turns fully to her, letting the peach drop. It turns rotten and disappears before it ever touches the floor.

“You kept surprising me,” he explains. “I felt it was time to surprise you.”

“Well, you did,” Emily admits. She pours herself a glass of Tyvian wine and drinks. A little alcohol won’t render her incapable of political maneuvering, and the warmth feels good. He watches her for a second as someone bumps into him, shudders, and hurries off. “Would you like to dance?” she asks, feeling a thread of mischief in her chest.

His black eyes give nothing away as he nods, lifting his arm for Emily to take. They walk into the ballroom at a measured pace, couples twirling around them. Corvo is still talking to the guard; Emily wonders if he can see what’s really happening, if he thinks he should save her. The Outsider’s gaze follows hers. “Your father has grown old,” he says under his breath.

“He’s not old,” she counters, because he really isn’t. He’s more than a match for anyone in the Isles, even her. Just the other night they ran for miles over the rooftops of Dunwall, Corvo’s breathing even the whole time. 

“You all look old to me,” he answers. “I can see your past, your present, and your future in one glance. I see the skin rotting from your bones, I see your first steps. All at once.” They sway past one of the Gray sisters, who narrows her eyes at Emily even as she smiles. Emily does nothing back, keeps her face emotionless. Let them read what they will from her behavior.

“Don’t be so lofty just because you’re unaging,” she warns. 

“I’m not unaging,” he says, cocking his head in that unsettling way he has, birdlike. “It’s impossible for me to have an age. In the Void, there’s no room for change. No room for aging. I couldn’t, even if I wished to.” 

“Do you wish to?” Emily asks.

“Sometimes.” The smoke around him wisps across to her, curling around their joined hands. 

“Why?” His smile is thin. She already knows what he’s going to do before he does it; she’s still annoyed when he disappears, leaving her alone in the middle of the dance floor. She sighs and makes conversation with a new partner.   
+  
+  
Later that night, as Emily is uncoiling her hair, she is sucked into the Void between one blink and the next. She frowns, annoyed, and looks around. It’s the same as always; black rock, blue mist. A leviathan wails overhead, shivers racing down her spine. “Outsider!”

“My dear Empress.” He’s behind her. She whirls, suddenly very aware of how her nightgown has slid down one arm, exposing her shoulder. She feels softer like this, more vulnerable. He reaches to pluck a pin from her hair, sending one curl spiraling down. She pulls her sleeve up and gathers herself.

“What do you want?” 

He’s smirking, annoyingly cocky as always with his hands returned to fold behind his back. “Something is coming.” 

“You already told me that,” she reminds him. 

“You haven’t done anything about it.” 

“I’ve sent spies out. They’ll report unrest.”

“You haven’t done anything yourself.”

Emily is annoyed, bares her teeth. “I am an _Empress_. I handle every part of the Isles, every bureaucratic piece of nonsense that crosses my desk, every person who comes to me for help. I do not have _time_ to go gallivanting across the rooftops in search of a threat that you won’t even explain to me!”

Her fists have clenched at her sides. The Outsider is frowning at her. “I don’t know what’s coming either. I just know something is.”

He waves a hand and Emily’s back at her vanity, the lights flickering once. Her hairpin lies there, reflecting the dim light. When she touches it it’s icy cold, Emily hissing and snatching her hand back. The chill of the Void has touched her bones. It leaves her shivering for the rest of the night.


	5. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> think i have a general plot outline for this now which is cool

“Why did you give Delilah the Mark?” Emily asks the next time the Outsider shimmers into view, apparently having forgotten their little tiff already. The throne room is empty, but Emily swears she hears the far-off song of a leviathan. 

“Hello to you, Empress,” he says, tilting his head. She tugs the high collar of her robe farther up her throat, hiding bare skin from his chill. Emily has been ruminating on this since she last received word from Hypatia; sane, recovering, shivering awake from nightmares of flesh under her tongue. Not that she says as much. Emily is just good at reading between the lines. 

If Delilah was never given power, what would’ve happened? Would Hypatia never have become the Crown Killer? Would her Isles never have suffered? Would Emily sit here today with a bare left hand? Would Alexi still be alive? It’s pointless to wonder; her and Corvo are prone to brooding anyway. 

“I asked you a question.” She didn’t mean it to come out so hostile, so she softens her tone with a hand gesturing him near, as he drifts closer til the wisps of smoke at his feet swirl around her pointed boots. Emily’s toes curl with a strange sort of pleasure fear.

“I have no need to answer your questions.” 

She examines his coal black eyes. “You want to, though.” If the Outsider was a friend (though isn’t he a friend of sorts, by now?) Emily would beckon him even closer, look for the spark of a laugh in his face, a response to her challenge. She shakes away a memory of Alexi’s merry blue eyes.

“I do.” Hands folded behind his back, the Outsider appears to consider her question, peering at the ornately painting ceiling of the throne room. There are still scorch marks there, from Delilah and the Rat Plague before her. Emily left them there as a reminder, to be vigilant. She flicks her gaze around the room now, although she’s certain the Outsider would warn her of any intruders. “Delilah was interesting,” he says after some time. “She was clever.” 

“Did she remind you of yourself?” Emily asks. “Before this?” She gestures to indicate the otherness about him, the eldritch look of a witch boy. 

His mouth turns up at the corners, but there’s no real mirth there. “No. I’m not very clever at all.” Emily finds that hard to imagine. She huffs and shifts against the cold iron of the throne, bones aching. She sits here to think about hard questions, to remind herself that being an Empress is an uncomfortable position. Jessamine used to do the same. “A clever man would have gone mad,” he continues. “A clever man would never have been caught and sacrificed.” 

“So you chose her just because she was clever?” 

“Yes. And she was starving, hungry for purpose. Magnetic even without the Void in her bones. With it…” He shrugs. “She was nearly unstoppable. I made a mistake.” 

“I wouldn’t expect you to admit to failure.” It softens the sting of it some, that Delilah was chosen for a reason, that the Outsider admits to his failings. 

“I am no longer the fool I once was,” he tells her, disappearing with a soft, “Farewell, Empress.” Emily sighs and sinks back into her seat.  
+  
+  
+  
_My dearest Emily,_  
_The Isles are even more beautiful than I imagined. Tyvia has been cold, but the people are warm and welcoming. They haven’t forgotten the Rat Plague, however, and look upon me with suspicion. There are rumors here, of a man who steps from body to body, wearing them like clothes. Of an assassin who moves miles in a second. A masked man. They say he is still seen on the rooftops of Dunwall. How lovely it is to know that your father’s been exercising! In all seriousness, though, be careful. There are other whispers here. Whispers of a witch with a crown on her head. Be careful, dearest. Something is coming._  
_Callista_

Emily groans, sitting back into her comfortable nest of pillows in the Imperial Safe Room; tonight has been an uneasy one, nerves shivering under her skin til Emily can nearly feel the Mark on her hand glow. 

Corvo is out, on Imperial business in Karnaka. Right now, he’s probably lying back with a glass of good wine, or brooding on sun-faded rooftops. Her heart aches without him. 

She had thought that reading letters from friends would calm her some, but all she’s gotten is worse fears. Callista is repeating the words that are starting to show up in her dreams; something is coming. Emily rubs her aching temples, wishing sleep would come easy. 

Today is another full one; a breakfast with Alexi’s family, a going-over of Imperial cobblestone mandates, paperwork until lunch, a two hour long meeting with the Ladies Street Protection Force, then an even longer meeting with the Council that promises to both frustrate and bore her to tears, and finally a formal dinner where Emily will be expected to show up, resplendent, and somehow please everyone, after which she has a quick meeting with the Royal Spymaster regarding the selection of a new Guard Captain, before her final meeting with a potential High Overseer, which will most certainly leave her irritable.

She doesn’t have _time_ to sit here by whale oil light brooding over cryptic Outsider prophecies. An Empress must be prepared in every way. She groans again, letting her legs splay out over crumpled up papers and half-finished books, figuring she’ll rely on Sokolov’s Elixir to get her through the day. She picks up another letter, Wyman’s this time.  
_Emily,_  
_Morley is boring as ever. Sometimes I wonder if even you could make it interesting, though you’ve never failed to do so before. I miss the games we used to play during formal dinners; I miss your quick smile whenever I succeed with a joke. The girls here are comely, if a bit too concerned with the weight of my purse. I know you’re wondering if my eye has wandered yet, and I won’t lie. There’s a woman, completely unsuitable for me as always, married of course, my luck never changes. She has this way of tilting her head when she listens…enchanting. She claims to have seen witches, though to my knowledge Delilah’s spawn never made it as far as Morley. That’s why this isn’t just a social report, Emily: something is coming. My family’s business has never been better, our name never more respected. And you, well, you are beloved for your actions during Delilah’s coup. But there’s an ugliness brewing underneath. Nothing too serious, just one man spreading rumors far as I can tell. He seems charismatic though, and smart. Angry. Be careful, Emily. I would be devastated to lose you._  
_I love you._  
_-Wyman_  
Emily shivers, putting Wyman’s down to lay with Callista’s. The dry shift of paper against paper has her moving herself, shoving everything off the mattress to lay on her side, watching the sputtering candle light near her face. 

Two warnings from two people very close to her. This is not a coincidence. If it’s another one of the Outsider’s games, she’ll find a way to kill him herself. Pulling the heavy blankets further over her shoulders, Emily reminds herself she’s an Empress and Marked, more than capable of defending herself. What could be worse than Delilah or rats? With those uneasy thoughts, she drifts to sleep.  
+  
She barely notices the soft smoke that flows out from nowhere to rematerialize as a man in black, bending over her to touch her cheek, light and curious. “My dearest Empress.” 

“Outsider?” she murmurs, reaching for him only to be met with wisps, her hand falling back to her side, curling into a fist as the Mark glows. 

“I should be very surprised if I was anyone else.” 

“Why’re you here?”

“I feel a pull,” he admits, sinking to a crouch next to her side.

Misinterpreting his words, Emily yawns, her jaw cracking, and kicks a book away from her feet. “Sorry if I pulled you here. Dreaming. Now lemme sleep, you hagfish.” 

“You should work on your goodbyes,” he chastises, but he disappears into the Void all the same.


	6. Attack

Emily’s reasonably certain she used to have more friends. Back from before, after the Rat Plague but before Delilah. The life of an empress can be a lonely one, but Emily’s is lonelier than most. Her friends are spread far across the Isles, Callista in Tyvia, Wyman in Morley, Billie who knows where. 

She only has Corvo left, watching her like a crow. He winks and waves from across the room as Emily’s gaze drifts to him; she’s been entertaining citizens for the last three hours, hearing lists of complaints and fears. Emily loves her people, even when they need her too much.

She returns her gaze to the woman in front of her. She’s diminutive, red hair coiled in braids atop her head. There’s something birdlike about her as she tilts her head up at Emily, sleeves fluttering when she raises then lowers her arms. She wears the costume of a sailor from Karnaka. “My Empress,” she murmurs, bowing low. 

Emily nods her head. “How can I best help you?” she asks, repeating the formal words that she’s said a thousand times, that ancestors before her for generations have said as tradition demands. 

“There are rumors, Empress. Rumors of witches.”

Emily stiffens, catching Corvo as he does the same. Her gloved hands clench. “Delilah is gone,” she promises, trying to reassure.

“There are still witches. Perhaps some in this very palace,” the woman accuses, her voice rising. The people around them are beginning to look uncomfortable, shifting in line. “Something is coming for anyone who practices witchcraft.”

“That something is the guards,” Emily tells her, but the woman is already pulling a crossbow from her sleeve, faster than anyone can react.

“That something is death!” she yells, pulling the trigger. Emily can feel it as Corvo freezes time, like a tug in her chest, a blur that’s gone and back before anyone could see. The bolt, pushed aside, passes harmlessly by Emily’s head, embedding itself in the stone near her cheek.

The redheaded woman struggles and spits as the guards descend on her, Corvo easily taking her by the throat and lifting. Even in his fifties he’s a formidable sight, the other guards drawing back. “Take her to the dungeons,” Emily orders, touching her cheek with a hand that she refuses to let shake. “We’re done for the day.” She gets up and strides out without waiting for an answer, taking the bolt with her.   
+  
It’s not til an hour later that Corvo steps into her rooms, gone and there in an instant. She doesn’t jump, used to his sudden appearances. She’s twisting the bolt between her fingers, examining it. Karnakan steel, Karnakan make, something anyone off the street could grab. Of course it’s from Karnaka; the Outsider did warn her that her actions there would have consequences. 

“Are you alright?” her father asks, taking her chin in one hand to scrutinize her face.

“People have tried to assassinate me before,” Emily deflects, taking some comfort from the familiar warmth of his palm. 

“She was a fanatic. She says there are more out there like her, waiting.” 

“Did she speak easily?” Torture is a necessary evil, but one that Emily prefers as a last resort. She will never forget the sight of Corvo when he came back from prison during the Rat Plague; fingernails missing, deep bruises around his eyes, the welts of burns across his back and chest. She has never questioned why the Royal Torturer and his hound were found dead beneath the palace floor. She understands. 

“She wouldn’t shut up,” Corvo grunts, sitting on her desk, next to where she broods in her chair. “Now tell me what’s really going on. You expected this.” Corvo’s been by her side since birth. It was foolish to expect she’d be able to hide anything from him. 

“Not this exactly. A threat, though, yes. I’ve been waiting.”

“My little moon…” Their eyes meet and hold, Corvo’s stern, Emily’s calm. “Tell me everything.” 

“The Outsider has been visiting me in my dreams,” she confesses, hearing his intake of breath. “Something is coming but he doesn’t know what.” 

“I’ll talk to the Royal Spymaster.”

“About what? The warnings of a ghost? No one trusts us anymore.” They trust them to rule, to make laws and protect the Isles, but nothing closer. Emily and Corvo; witches, monsters, assassins.

“There’s something off about them,” she heard a servant whisper the other day. “The way they stare…it sets me shivering!” There’s a reason Emily doesn’t have many friends left. 

“I’ll take care of it myself then.” 

“I can protect myself,” Emily complains, but she accepts him anyway. She has the Isles to focus on, she can’t go running across the city for rumors.

“I’m still the Royal Protector,” he reminds her, standing to his full height.

“I know,” she says, taking his hand and squeezing once before he leaves the room.   
+  
+  
Emily wakes from fitful dreams to find the Outsider at her bedside, holding the bolt that nearly killed her. His mouth is tight, she thinks. Even in the darkness of her room he’s so pale he’s almost luminescent. Emily inherited Corvo’s olive skin, so she’s used to being darker than most in Dunwall. The Outsider is different though, as white as bone, as white as Delilah. His pupils are tiny pinpricks of light that send a shiver down her spine.

“You had a close call today, my Empress.” 

“Yes.” She sits up, the long strands of hair that she usually keeps up trailing down her shoulders. The Outsider’s gaze darts there and he frowns, turning his face towards her door. 

“You’re not in your safest place tonight.” 

“I’m not scared,” she admits, lighting a candle. The ensuing glow sends strange shadows across the Outsider’s porcelain skin, making him even more eldritch than usual. “I’ve had worse.” 

“Your father is worried about you. He lurks even now.” 

“Can he see us?” she asks, discomfited by the thought of Corvo seeing a moment that seems so…she hesitates to use the word intimate, but it fits. There are some things she doesn’t want her father seeing. 

“No,” the Outsider dismisses, returning the bolt to her nightstand.

“You’ve been making a habit of showing up while I sleep.” 

“Do you want me to stop?” Somehow, Emily feels like he’ll obey her if she says no. That much power sends a pulse in her chest, but Emily’s used to power. She doesn’t let it overwhelm her.

“No. You’ve been helpful. And your company isn’t horrible.” 

This gets a laugh from him that she wouldn’t have expected, almost carefree. “High praise, Empress!” 

“Consider yourself lucky, Outsider.” It isn’t until an hour later and a full conversation that Emily realizes the smile hasn’t faded from her face.


	7. Brands

Emily wakes from a dream where the Outsider is over her, _in_ her, his teeth sharp at her throat. “You’ve been begging for this,” he whispers harshly into her shoulder, as Emily throws her head back and laughs, breathless. 

“So have you.” 

When she sits up, fully awake, she realizes she’s wet through her underclothes, flushes with shame and confusion in the dark. She’s not…She doesn’t…She is an _Empress_. She cannot be having dreams about fucking eldritch gods. She can’t let him distract her. 

And so she has a sudden, terrible thought. Does the Outsider control dreams? Holger knows that she’s received plenty of dreams from him, as has Corvo. Unsettled, Emily lays back down, stares up at her ceiling. She has questions for the Outsider. And he _will_ answer them.   
*  
*  
*  
Of course, now that she wants to talk, she doesn’t see the Outsider for three weeks. Three weeks of endless meetings, of Mal Arsenios being elected to High Overseer, of the rumors growing, swelling. Three weeks of Emily waking up wet and frustrated, feeling the Outsider’s hands on her body like sticky prints. She is annoyed, exhausted, and overwhelmed. 

It doesn’t make for a good time to have the Outsider shimmer into existence, grabbing her wrist. Even through the cloth she feels his chill, goosebumps pricking her arm up to her shoulder. “What-” Before her words are even finished they’re in the Void, Emily’s ears popping. She tugs out of his grip and steps back, brushing herself off although she’s spotless as usual. “I was busy!”

She wasn’t, in reality; she was just absentmindedly doodling leviathans in the margins of her diary. As if called, one of them calls overhead, a long, lonely wail. She wonders why she finds the Void comforting now, sees great bloodied whales and endless purple smoke and thinks nothing of it. Delilah’s part of the Void was horrifying, warped and wrong, the vines climbing high trying to choke. The Void now is lonely, desolate, but never scary. 

“I’m sorry, Empress.”

Surprised by his apology, Emily hesitates, then changes her tone. “I…Are you alright?” 

His answering smile is amused, if slightly bitter. “What could harm me?” She begins to speak, then closes her mouth. She can’t imagine that even Delilah could’ve truly hurt him. 

“Why am I here then?” 

“I needed your help.” He’s walking her along one of the craggy stone paths now, blinking from over gaps of Void, his eyes never leaving her face. She follows, pushing her mask over her mouth out of habit; she wears the same uniform every day, mostly. It gives the people something familiar to associate her with, and it’s comfortable. She has not inherited her mother’s taste for high fashion. “Leave your mask down,” the Outsider says as they duck between two crushed together rocks; Emily obeys without really thinking. 

“Why?” 

He blinks at her for a moment, then clears his throat, a human action that she finds surprisingly charming. “I…I’m not sure.”

Emily would tease him, but for the fact that they’ve clearly come upon what he needs her help for; an area of the Void still choked with vines, a small space no wider than three feet that manages to radiate evil anyway, Emily’s hand going to her sword. “What is this?” 

“Delilah left parts of herself behind.” He crouches and points, where Emily can just see a hand, curled into a fist, so tight the knuckles are white. She notes the veins bulging under the skin in bright red streaks, sees how the hand emerges from a cluster of flowers.

“Is that…” 

“It’s not Delilah’s hand. It’s one of her witches,” he reassures her. 

“Get rid of it?” She can feel her skin crawl, with hatred and fear. Not Delilah, not again. She can’t. Just. Not again.

“I can’t touch it.” The Outsider shrugs, but she can see the annoyance in his stance and wonders when she learned to read him so well. 

“So you brought me in?” 

“Who else would I call on?” Emily considers this, and realizes he’s right. Corvo would never go, as he trusts the Outsider about as much as he trusts Overseers, and Daud seems to feel the same. Emily isn’t sure if there’s anyone else with the Mark, but she knows that she and the Outsider are…close. She’s not a fool. She knows it’s unusual. This is different, though. This is trust. 

“Okay. What can I do?” The Outsider doesn’t answer, so she reaches down, grabs the hand like she’s shaking it, and tugs. It comes away with a horrible squelch, cut off at the wrist, black blood dripping onto the stones. Emily’s nose wrinkles, but she’s an Empress. She’s strong. 

“Peel the fingers back,” the Outsider whispers behind her; she glances over her shoulder at him, noting how close he’s leaning, the avid interest in his coal black eyes. When she forces the fingers back, with some effort, there’s a black earring sitting in the middle of the palm, held so tightly it left gashes, more blood dripping onto Emily’s shoes.   
The Outsider plucks it out, crushing it easily between his fingers. The vines around them crumble into dust with a shriek, and Emily feels her shoulders loosen. She stays there with the Outsider for a few moments, resting. Anything that has to do with Delilah is unsettling, leaves her shaky. She came so close to losing everything. More importantly, the Isles came close to losing everything. “Thank you,” he says, getting to his feet.

She follows, swaying into his personal space. They’re almost the same height, his eyes holding hers. “Do you control all dreams?” she blurts before she loses courage. Self-confidence comes naturally to her, with everyone but him, it seems. Then again, he is the Outsider.

“No,” he tells her, and she realizes that he never blinks. It makes her own eyes feel drier. “Why?”

Emily rolls her mask back up, his eyes examining her face. It’s easier to evade questions when her annoyingly expressive mouth is hidden. “I was just wondering.” He opens his mouth, closes it, and touches her shoulder. In a second she’s back in her chambers, alone, still feeling the chill of him on her skin. The frustration is only growing.  
*  
*  
*  
Jessamine is humming under her breath, a lullaby. Emily smiles as her mother strokes the hair away from her face, folding it behind her ear. “What are you thinking, Emily?” 

“I’m going to be a sea captain one day,” she answers, tucking her head into Jessamine’s shoulder, into her black hair. She smells like home, like expensive fabric and jasmine.

Jessamine smiles down at her, fond. “You can be anything you want, my love.” Emily is safe. 

“Emily. _Emily_.” Corvo is tapping her awake; she’s dozed off at her desk again, drooling over sheathes of paper, head in her arms. 

“I’m awake,” she says, waving him off as she wipes her mouth. “Is everything alright?” 

“The Tyvians are storming the gates,” he teases, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. You have a meeting.” She sighs, rubbing a hand over her face, getting to her feet. “Take a break, little moon.” 

“No, no, I’m fine. What’s this one?”

“Bartender’s Union. Complaints.” She grumbles, pushing past him with an affectionate kiss to his cheek, and heads out the room. Her dreams of her mother can wait til later.


	8. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so it's been a couple months, buttttt i did give you guys over 2000 words, so please be nice lol

Two days after the would-be assassin from Karnaca is sent to Coldridge Prison, the Overseers come to visit. Emily would have preferred to Mesmerize them and have Corvo take them outside, unsure how they even got there, but she knows she can’t do that. She isn’t the irresponsible, thoughtless child from before Delilah anymore. 

It’s just one man, thankfully, not even a Vice Overseer. Which means, Emily hopes, that the Abbey isn’t truly concerned. She’s not sure that even she and Corvo combined could take them down. They’re too ingrained in the Empire, and their music boxes…

She suppresses a shudder, tapping her fingers lightly against the arm of her throne. Overseer Wiona rests his hands at the small of his back, inscrutable. Corvo, lurking behind him, is similarly unreadable. 

Emily finds herself staring at the wolfhound the Overseer brought with him; it’s tongue lolls, at ease. She’s reminded of the hounds back during the Plague, who guarded her while Corvo was in Coldridge. Her lip twitches. “You don’t like dogs, Empress?” the Overseer asks, petting his hound. Corvo, who also hates the hounds, wrinkles his nose. 

“I am not…fond of dogs,” Emily says, thinking of wolfhounds that chased her through the streets of Karnaca. “What are you here for?” she asks, attempting to regain control of the conversation. 

“There are rumors of witchcraft in Dunwall, again.” Emily bites her tongue. There have always been rumors of witchcraft, half the time because the Abbey accuses some poor soul for using a bone charm to help his sick child.

The guards are afraid of her and her father, Corvo especially, Emily knows. She’s sure they’re more than willing to gossip to the Abbey for a few coins. Some of them were attacked by Corvo during the Rat Plague, tumbled into consciousness from high up, tucked behind walls or in dumpsters. “We waited for arms around our necks from behind, Empress. Or the bite of a dart,” Ramsey, the bastard, had told her before his betrayal. She had smashed him to rubble herself, a rare vindictive satisfaction. 

“I’m sure there’s no one in the palace who would allow witchcraft to poison them,” Emily says, fully aware of the eight bone charms she has tucked around her person.

“Corruption can happen at the highest levels of the Crown. Even to the Empress. Look at Delilah.” 

“Delilah was never Empress,” Emily says coldly, trying to summon up the quiet dignity she remembers Jessamine having. She’ll never be her mother, but she does her best.

“I meant no offense,” Overseer Wiona says, seeming to realize his misstep. These Overseers, all they know is scripture and discipline, with none of the wiliness required for court. Most of them, anyway. 

“If High Overseer Arsenios has a concern, he must speak to me himself,” Emily chides; the Crown is not a small matter, and she demands to be treated with respect.

“The High Overseer is not…available at this time,” Wiona mumbles, deflated, and Emily realizes exactly what that means. Arsenios isn’t aware of this visit. Outsider, these Overseers…Like a pit of vipers with their fangs in each other’s necks.

“Why are you here?” Emily leans forward in her seat, staring where she imagines Wiona’s eyes to be. “Tell me, truly.” She smiles as sweetly as she’s able, knowing that she doesn’t have Jessamine’s innate kindness or good looks, but trying anyway.

“I was stationed in Karnaca,” Wiona admits, finally, hopefully unaware that Corvo has his sword drawn behind him. “I must’ve been attacked, by…”

“By who?” No one has ever directly accused either her or Corvo of being the masked assassins, but everyone knows. She’s almost hoping this Overseer will be brave enough to be the first. 

“By a masked woman,” Wiona says. “I woke up on a rooftop. I was most horribly sunburned,” he says disapprovingly. Emily just smiles. “Before I passed out, I thought I saw…” 

“Saw what?” Emily prompts.

“I thought I saw the woman disappear into thin air. In black smoke.”

“Heatstroke,” she dismisses, feeling almost bad as his shoulders slump, dejected. “I don’t have time for sun-addled accusations, Overseer. The Royal Protector will see you out.”

To keep him from sneaking around more than for intimidation, although a few minutes alone with a silent Corvo has driven quite a few men to gibbering confessions. “I…” Overseer Wiona starts, but he seems to realize that Emily’s patience is rapidly running out; she only has a few minutes before her scheduled period is over, a treasured half hour of rest that Wiona so rudely interrupted. He slumps off behind Corvo, even his hound seeming less perky than before.

Emily settles back into her throne, steepling her fingers together and resting her chin on them. Another threat disarmed. There seem to be more every day. She wonders if Jessamine ever worked quite this hard; Emily found a single strand of gray in her hair the other day, a product of overwork. She hasn’t told Corvo yet; he’s silvering nicely at the temples, and some small, vain part of Emily cringes at the thought of going gray before her father.

All Emily can remember of Jessamine is kindness and laughter and the smell of her jasmine perfume. She remembers Jessamine always making time for her, and being chided by that bastard of a Royal Spymaster for doing so. “A princess is also a person,” Jessamine would always say.  
Every morning she would come to Emily’s room to style her hair with a red headband and a white bow, hands quick and sure.

She thinks of standing in Corvo’s old apartment, back in Karnaca, holding her grandmother’s diary in her hands. Paloma had died there, alone. Emily can’t imagine doing that to her own mother; if Jessamine was still here, Emily would hold tight with both fists. Then again, Corvo had no choice but to leave his mother. Neither did Emily. 

She’s surprised to realize her eyes are wet, and goes to dry them only to be met with someone else’s hand. Corvo’s. Of course. For a second, she had thought the Outsider. He offers her his ratty old handkerchief, worn with use and faded from washing, the Imperial crest faded. She takes it and dabs at her eyes, feeling like a little girl again as his broad hand settles on top of her head. “I miss her too, little moon,” he says, reading her thoughts as always. 

She leans her head against his side, thankful the throne allows for him to stand so close to her. “Thank you, Father,” she says after a moment, tucking his handkerchief back into his palm. “There’s work to do.” 

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he warns, but it’s an old argument, one that’s repeated itself over and over since Emily came back with a fire in her heart and new plans for the Isles. She won’t betray her people again.  
+  
+  
+  
Alexandria Hypatia has written to her again; they’ve been exchanging letters for months now, as Emily rebuilds the Isles and Alexandria her health, having cleaned up Addermire Institute and begun serving the miners again. Emily can’t…Of all Delilah’s crimes, what she did to Alexandria was one of the worst. Alexandria’s script is small and wispy, much like the woman herself. She writes,  
_Dearest Emily,_  
_I almost feel myself again, although sometimes I have the most awful dreams…Hamilton has been a great help to me, as has the Duke. He visits me personally every week, and I truly look forward to our visits. Regarding your question from your last letter, I haven’t heard any rumors of witchcraft, though Breanna Ashworth is still sequestered in one of our retiring rooms. She doesn’t speak. I don’t leave Addermire often, however, and thus miss much of the gossip! I only wish I could help you further. My apologies for a short letter, but my work is never done, as I’m sure you know._  
_Regards,_  
_Alexandria Hypatia_  
Another dead end, then. Whatever is coming, it certainly won’t be obvious.

Emily is almost thankful for the Outsider coming into view as the songbird outside Emily’s window squawks and darts away, surely sensing a bigger predator nearby. A carrion eater, perhaps, Emily thinks. There is something crow-like about the Outsider, maybe in the feathery black hair falling over his forehead, or his awkward, sharp elbows. 

“Hello, Empress,” he greets as usual, settling his rump upon her desk like he belongs there, tapping a heel against the drawer where she keeps her voluminous correspondence. 

“Outsider,” she responds, cordial, suddenly aware of the tendrils of hair escaping her bun, of the bags that have been rapidly accumulating under her eyes. “What brings me the pleasure?” And it _is_ a pleasure, she finds, a respite after a long day of toadying and keeping her chin up. What is there about her that the Outsider doesn’t know? She relaxes, looking at his face through the sputtering candle light, which renders his skin an almost natural color. 

“Few would consider my presence a pleasure,” he points out, but he looks pleased himself, smoothing down the spotless front of his jacket. “Hypatia isn’t going to help you,” he continues.

“How do you know?” 

“I just know.” 

“Alright.” She examines him, thinking critically. He really isn’t an ugly man, if you can get past the eyes. In this light, he almost looks normal. “What would the public think?” she murmurs, feeling….coquettish, maybe, like she used to feel toward Wyman but with an edge of danger sharp as her sword.

“Of what, Empress?”

“There’s a strange man in my personal quarters,” she teases, shuffling her papers and beginning to put them away. 

“I’m sure I’m not the first. And I’m no man,” he answers, black eyes reflecting eerie pinpricks of light back at her. She could swear he’s smirking. 

“What are you then?” she asks, and he's silent for a moment before reaching one bare, pale hand towards her. His fingers are crooked, clearly broken at some point in his past life. She frowns in sympathy for the boy he once was.

“I am a god,” he tells her, looking down with those dark, dark eyes. 

Emily’s pulse flutters. “And I am an Empress.” She dares to slide her glove off, the one covering his mark on her left hand, and presses the barest tips of her first two fingers to his palm. 

This first touch, she’s expecting…she’s not sure what. Skin so cold it burns? To have her fingers snatched away, bloody stumps for her to clutch at and cry because she should’ve _known_ , she should’ve stayed away from eldritch men with black eyes. Not, Emily thinks to herself, advice that the average grandmother gives out.  
Instead of pain, it’s just the sensation of cool skin against hers, no different in feeling than anyone else Emily’s ever touched, but a hundred times stranger anyway, somehow, goosebumps spreading up Emily’s arm, her fingers trailing from the Outsider’s palm to his wrist, where no pulse beats.

“Well, Empress?” he asks. 

“You feel like just a man to me,” she tells him as his other hand settles, icy, over hers. She shudders with an emotion she can’t name, and he disappears without a sound only seconds before Corvo enters the room, steps slowing as he gets a look at her face.

“What is it, Emily?” he asks, scanning the corners, hand going to his sword. They all bear the trauma from Delilah and her trickery. 

“It’s nothing, Father,” she tries to dismiss, but Corvo’s always known her better than that. 

“Emily,” he says again, in a tone broaching no arguments. 

“I’ve been talking to the Outsider,” she admits, and Corvo bares his teeth.

“What does he want?” 

“Nothing,” Emily says. “I think he’s lonely.” 

The wrong words to say, because now Corvo’s looking at her with concern, almost pity, and it makes Emily’s hackles rise. “Don’t you ever-” 

“Talk to him again? How dare you tell me what to do,” Emily hisses, and Corvo’s face hardens into what she’s sure is an exact copy of hers; haughty, distant.

“Well, you are Empress,” he says stiffly, voice a growl it usually only hits when he talks about Daud, turning on his heel as Emily reaches helplessly for him. 

“ _Father_.” She only meant…She didn’t…With a sigh, Emily rests her head in her arms, still feeling the Outsider’s skin under hers.


	9. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my poor readers, i've been gone for so long!!! but i'm back now and with your (hopefully gentle) reminders I will soon have this story finished

Hours later, when the sun is just beginning to break weakly over the horizon, Emily steals to her father’s sleeping place. 

Corvo technically has a bedroom right next to the royal chambers, as have all Royal Protectors stretching back generations. After a scare when Emily was fifteen, however, involving a very clever assassin who still ended up choking on Corvo’s blade, Emily’s father has slept tucked away in various parts of the castle, never far in case he’s needed. More than one maid has had the shock of a lifetime when she comes upon Corvo napping in an unused closet.

Tonight, Corvo isn’t sleeping, choosing instead to slink around at the very top of the palace, his black coat blending in with the shadows. She hasn’t ever been able to sneak up on him, so he only turns his head when she uses Far Reach to appear next to him at the precipice just over her room. Sometimes, Emily wonders if he’s using Dark Vision constantly, always on alert. But surely that would waste too much Mana, and anyway, using it for too long makes her head hurt.

“I’m…” They both begin to speak at the same time, then subside with a smile. Two hearts in one, just like Jessamine said. 

Emily waits for him to speak again, looking out over Dunwall. “A grimy, grasping little horror,” Wyman had once called it, trying to amuse her, but Emily hadn’t smiled. She _loves_ Dunwall. She loves the people, even when they’re plotting against her. She loves the way the sun catches in the drops of water on every surface, she loves the smell of the sea and whale oil in the air. Every part of her kingdom is different. She loves them all. 

Far off, a member of the guard is calling, “All’s well,” and Emily can see the early risers beginning to scurry from shop to shop. In the extreme distance, the ships bob, some still carrying whales as their cargo even though Emily’s been working to replace their dependence on whale oil with hydraulic power. Piero Joplin has been helping her.

“My little moon,” Corvo says after a moment, squinting against the sun. The crow’s lines at the corner of his eyes deepen. 

“I never meant to command you. I’m sorry. I should have chosen my words better. ” She’s been mulling over what to say since their fight. Since childhood, Emily has been taught that her words hold more weight than other’s, and it’s better to be silent than to say something thoughtless. She can be easier around her father, but that doesn’t give her permission to be careless. Emily is always, always aware that a word from her could kill anyone she knows, even her friends. Even Corvo. 

Sometimes, like now, it pulls at her belly like a weight. Emily has never had the luxury to be truly reckless. And now that she’s trying to be a real queen, she can allow herself even less give. She slumps over the rail they’re leaning on, suddenly exhausted in a way that can never be healed with just sleep. 

Corvo’s hand settles on the back of her head, over the bun of her hair. “I’ve known and loved two Empresses. I know the weight on your shoulders.” She nods, appreciating Corvo as always; the other half of her mind, it feels like. “I wasn’t going to warn you away from the Outsider, Emily. I was going to say you’re just like your mother, in some ways. Your mother’s heart was open to everyone, too. Sometimes…” He pauses, clenching a fist. The one with the Outsider’s mark on it. Emily feels the mark on her own skin throb with empathy. “Sometimes, I think it’s what killed her. She couldn’t see beyond her desire to help.”

“Daud killed her.” Emily’s tone is cold, but she puts an arm around Corvo’s waist, leaning her cheek into his shoulder. How long has it been since she grew to be of a height with him? When Emily was young, Corvo seemed massive and unbreakable, even when he returned from Coldridge with haunted eyes and bruises. Now, Corvo is still the most solid man she knows, almost as solid as the stone Delilah turned him into. But she sees the gray in his hair. “Her kindness just gave the Spymaster an excuse.” 

“What does the Outsider want?”

Emily accepts the change of subject with crossed arms and a tap of her fingers against her bicep. “He wants to help.”

“He’s a slippery bastard,” Corvo growls, spitting over the edge. Down below, an Overseer yelps and wipes at his formerly pristine mask. Emily can’t help the barking laugh that escapes from her throat even as she and Corvo lean backwards to escape the Overseer’s scrutiny. 

When she was younger, Corvo would help her play pranks. It was only as she grew older that Emily recognized all that sneaking around the palace as training for the assassin she would become. As a result, she and Corvo share a similar, impish sense of humor that often drove Jessamine to eye rolls and gentle scolding.

“The Outsider likes me.” Emily’s confident of this; why else would he stay and chat, or watch Emily with those dark eyes and an almost smile? 

“He’s not human enough to know what liking anything is.”

“We only just finished arguing.” Corvo allows this with a smile and a gracious nod. “He says something is coming,” Emily says, checking her timepiece and realizing she’s very nearly late to the christening of a ship down in the harbor. Oh, well. She can use Far Reach to skip from rooftop to rooftop, Mesmerizing anyone who happens to see her. People are generally too afraid to ask why the Empress has appeared behind them without a sound, with black smoke dissipating at her feet. 

“What’s coming?” Corvo asks, looking every inch the bodyguard he is.

Emily can only hold up her hands and frown. “Even he doesn’t know. It annoys him.” 

The look Corvo’s giving her, narrow and amused, is the same look she used to get when she’d come home as a teenager with Wyman on her arm, both of them laughing, a little drunk on Tyvian wine. “You’re close with him, aren’t you?”

Closer than anyone’s ever gotten, Emily suspects but doesn’t dare say. Instead, she uses Far Reach to skip to the next rooftop over, and waves goodbye.


	10. Death of the Outsider

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo guess who finally purchased and played death of the outsider?

Emily steps out of the bath with a sigh, pushing her wet hair away from her face. It has been growing since she reached the age of fifteen, so it now reaches her waist. It is tradition for rulers of the Isles, male or female, to have long hair. Emily still remembers how Jessamine would look at night, when she let her hair down, down, to the tops of her thighs in a black curtain. It had been thinner than Emily’s. She inherited Corvo’s thick, Serkonan hair. 

She goes to stand before her mirror, reaching for her brush, when there’s a rush of displaced air, a sudden feeling of _wrongness_ , and the Outsider appears in Emily’s bathroom. She whirls around, slips on a puddle of water, and falls against him like some wench from a bad romance. The buttons on the Outsider’s coat are sharp, pointed, she realizes. They hurt the naked skin of her breasts. 

“Out-Outsider! What are you doing here?” she demands, moving back with her hands pressed against his chest.

He’s warm against her, and she…she can feel his heart beating. When she looks up, she sees the same face as always, but his eyes are pale gray, almost white. She presses her hand harder to his chest, touches the other to his neck, and feels the strong, pounding heart. The Outsider is human. He looks almost as shocked as her; in a moment, he’s clutching at her shoulders, her bicep. “ _Emily_ ,” he gasps. She distantly realizes it’s the first time he’s called her by name. 

She leads him to her bed, unconscious of being naked. The Outsider slumps there, elbows on his knees, and he finally looks like the young man he was. Lost, confused. Elated, though. Emily settles next to him, reaching for a shawl that she drapes over her shoulders, using Far Reach to close the lock on her door. It would not do for the Empress to be discovered like this.

“What happened?” If the Outsider is vulnerable, if some entity not so allied with her as he is now controls the Void…Emily shudders to think of what would happen to her Isles. “Is it Delilah?” Delilah in control of the Void, able to bend people like puppets around her. Emily’s hand flies to her throat. The Outsider’s Mark is still there. As, obviously, are her powers. The Void still exists, then. She assumes the Void will always exist. 

“It’s not Delilah,” the Outsider reassures. He looks down at his fine-boned, crooked hands in awe. “She did it. She freed me.” 

“Who?”

“Billie Lurk. She pulled the knife from my heart and took my place.” Outsider produces a twin bladed knife from nowhere, seemingly from his own skin, showing her. “This was in me for…for too long.”

Emily stares down at it in horrified silence before it slips away, then she looks to his face. “Billie Lurk is the Outsider?”

“No. I may be human, but I am the Outsider. It’s the only name I have here. The only name for thousands of years. But she’s in control of the Void.” He smiles. “And her first act was to deliver me, to you. One of the few people in the Isles who could understand what happened, and not take advantage of it. One of the few people powerful enough to keep me safe.” 

“But you’re human. What could you do?” 

“I know everyone’s secrets. Every secret. And humans are powerful, too. Billie Lurk took me down with half your power.” Again he looks at his hands, seeming to marvel in them. “She could’ve killed me. She made a different choice. One that required no sacrifice or pain. She’ll be with Deirdre now. Walking the Void together.”

Emily doesn’t ask, about Billie. She already knows who Deidre is. She, and Corvo, have a bad habit of reading whatever they get their hands on, and excusing it as necessary knowledge for protecting the Empire. Emily does not draw the line at reading diaries.

She does relax, though. She trusts Billie, even though she hid behind Meagan, and you can’t live on a boat with someone for months without getting to know them. The Void is in good hands, possibly better than the Outsider’s. He was capricious, never deliberately cruel but never kind, either. And Billie’s interference would explain some of the stories she’s been hearing from Karnaca. Of a gang called the Eyeless, and a very important bank robbed, and a woman, slipping through the city.

They sit there for a moment, until Emily remembers that she’s an Empress and straightens her back. “What do you plan to do, Outsider? Can you see the future?” 

“I never could,” he admits, rueful. “Nothing beyond glances, anyway. I could see everything else-you should try exploring Pandyssia again, by the way-but all I had was manipulation.” 

“Outsider,” Emily says, taking his hand in hers. His skin is warm now, but she still tingles with something that was never fear. He glances down at their hands, then up at her. “What are you going to do now?” 

The smile on his face resembles his from before, when he was something beyond human. Bitter. “I was an outcast four thousand years ago. I had no skills, no family. Now I have even less.”

“You have me,” Emily promises, surprised by the sincerity in her voice. She is an Empress. Right now, she should be thinking of the best way to exploit a man who knew of everything that happened up til a few minutes ago. She may be an Empress, but she was raised by Corvo, and Jessamine, who taught her not to rule at the expense of her soul. 

“I could have no one better.” She squeezes his hand once before releasing it, getting to her feet. 

When she uses Dark Vision, she can see there’s no one around them but maids, who wouldn’t dare come in here without an invitation. The Outsider is looking at her with something in his eyes she decides to ignore for now. The light of the fire she keeps in her room casts them both in flickering shadow. “I need to talk to my father,” she decides. 

The Outsider casts a solitary figure on her huge bed, his shoulders hunched. She wonders how he feels, to be ripped from the Void, to be once a god and now a man again. He seems relieved.  
+  
She sends one of the guards for Corvo, stressing that it’s urgent, hoping he’s in the Palace and not running around on rooftops. Luckily, he appears at her door within ten minutes. She blocks his entrance. She doesn’t feel guilty-the Outsider’s new status has nothing to do with her, and she’s not afraid-Corvo has a temper as even and calculating as hers-but she wants to warn him. “The Outsider is here. He’s human. He’s staying with us.” 

She’s aware of how she’s discussing the Outsider, a _god_ , like he’s a stray puppy. Corvo nods. He could refuse, and she would listen. He nods, though, and brushes past her into the room, locks eyes with the Outsider. For a moment, Emily is expecting…something. Corvo only grunts, returns his gaze to her. “We’ll tell the rest of the Palace that he’s a friend, like Wyman.” The Outsider seems amused, probably because he knows exactly what Wyman was to her during those “visits as a friend.” “Can you protect yourself, or should I leave a guard with you?” Corvo asks, looking past Emily and to the Outsider.

Emily is so grateful to her father, who is protective in every aspect of his life. The Outsider flexes his fingers, looking curious, and Emily yelps as five rats appear out of nowhere and sit on their haunches, whiskers twitching. Corvo, who is able to call up a swarm of devouring rats any time he wants to, looks on with disinterest. Then Outsider disappears in a haze of black smoke, reappearing next to Corvo, smiling. “I crossed through the Void in an instant.” 

“You can still go there?”

The Outsider gives her a strange look. “The Void will always be my home.” 

Emily looks to Corvo, who shrugs. He hasn’t softened, but of course he never does unless they’re alone. “You can stay in one of the bedrooms we use for important guests,” she decides, wrapping her shawl closer around herself, aware of the Outsider’s pale gaze on her. “We’ll deal with this further tomorrow. I can reschedule a few meetings.” She’s pleased; tomorrow, she has a two hour meeting with the High Overseer that is purely there so he can posture and remind her how important Overseers are to the people. A part of her laughs to think that she’ll be snubbing them to talk with their most hated enemy. “For now, I was getting ready for bed.” 

“You need your rest,” Corvo agrees, Blinking away. He uses his power far more often than she does. They’re a part of him, whereas hers are still new and a little scary. She looks to Outsider, who gave her them, and gestures for him to follow.

Usually she would have a maid introduce a new guest to their quarters, but the Outsider is too important, not trustworthy yet. Who knows what he could say? And they’ve only recently replaced all the maids who were killed under Delilah. She doesn’t know yet who is loyal to the Crown, who is here to spy, and who is merely neutral and able to be swayed. So. 

“Turn around,” she orders the Outsider, who does so. 

“There’s no one around to see us,” he says, so he must have a version of Dark Vision as well. 

“I prefer to be clothed,” she says, amused. “Are you often naked in the Void, Outsider?”

She can sense his smile. “Are you very curious to know the answer to that, Empress?” A smile touches her own mouth as she finishes dressing. Breeches and a shirt will do for now, her sword at her hip. Emily doesn’t take chances with being vulnerable anymore. 

She guides the Outsider down the dim hallways and to his room, which is simple enough, if made with the best materials available. A bed, soft with heavy covers, a chest for valuables, two nightstands with wood from tall Tyvian pines, enough lamps to flood the room with light. A mirror and chair. A wardrobe that Outsider checks inside, seeming interested by it all.

“I’ve never had a room like this. Not in the Void. Not…before.” He presses a hand to the soft covers of his bed while he examines the portrait that hangs over it, of her grandfather Euhorn. “Ah. The man who started all the trouble.” Emily just watches. The man has been a god for thousands of years. It is time for him to relearn how to be human. He sits on the bed, bouncing slightly, smiling to himself. “And the mirror?”

“In case you should wish to admire yourself,” she teases. 

“Am I singularly handsome?” he asks, and he may be serious. Emily is taken aback. She harbors more attraction for the Outsider than she would like to admit, not all based around his looks. But she tries to examine him critically. He’s not very tall, but his form is pleasing, slim and straight. His face is mostly sharp angles, which made him rather frightening as a god, but the pale eyes soften him some, and she likes the way his dark hair spikes over his forehead and the smug smile he always wears.

“You are not hideous,” she says finally.

“High praise, Empress,” he murmurs, looking down at his feet. He has shoes on, in a style that went out of fashion thousands of years ago. She wonders if he knows how to dress for bed, and decides to let him learn by himself. He’s not a child, she reminds herself as she bids him goodnight and heads back to her own room. He’s not a child, and he’s only barely human. He’ll learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my version of this, everything that happened in death of the outsider was exactly the same except that billie took the sword from the outsider AND took his place, so she's now the void god. everyone still has the powers the outsider gave them. 
> 
> also, if anyone is curious, here are the Outsider's powers, because it made sense to me that all that contact with the Void would change him permanently. I decided that his powers are more like Billie's, in that they can't be upgraded like Corvo's or Emily's. He can however create bonecharms, because he has the Twin-bladed Knife.
> 
> Firstly, he is hardier than a normal human. Also, he has the Twin-bladed Knife that he carries within himself. Kinda sucks for him :( Here are his powers: 
> 
> Void Walk: Functions as his Blink. He disappears into the Void in a rush of black smoke, and reappears in the place he wished to go an instant later. This ability has about the distance limit of Emily's Far Reach. While travelling through the Void, time freezes around him. 
> 
> Outsider's Eyes: Functions as Dark Vision. He can see through walls, see people and their paths, sees valuables and bonecharms. No runes obviously-he doesn't need them because he can't upgrade his powers. 
> 
> Outsider's Mark: He can leave his Mark on up to four different people, which will enable him to see what they're seeing/doing no matter how far away, control their actions up to a point (mostly they can do what Corvo can do when he Possesses someone) and he can call up their faces to cover his own and act as them in a version of Billie's Semblance. This is different from the Mark he has on Corvo, Emily, and others-those Marks come from his time as the Void God, and are no longer useful to him besides giving him a vague sense of their emotions. 
> 
> Dispel: He can look into a person and show them their greatest shames/the truths of themselves, which results in them passing out, running off, or fighting other people. At full Mana he can link up to five people. 
> 
> Rat Friend: He can see through the eyes of rats, can send them places, have them eat people or eat through obstacles, have them grab objects like coins or food and bring it back to him.
> 
>  
> 
> I built the Outsider's powers like the game built Emily's-her powers are intended to be used for distraction and crowd control, which fits her status as Empress. Outsider's powers are meant to manipulate and cause chaos, if he wants them to. Yes, I did spend days working on this. Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> man how is life worth living if you can't write self indulgent, too-more-lore filled slow burn fic for two of your favorite characters ever from your favorite game? please don't think that these chapters will come out often, i'm more focused on descanso and my other account right now!


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